The One Left Behind
by Rydia Asuka
Summary: Ashe was alone, separated from his friends, for five long, lonely years. He made it through as best he could, but the battle at Ailell is very nearly his undoing.


Ashe shifted his feet. The ground was physically hot under his feet, but that wasn't why he was fidgeting. No, in fact, despite the sweltering air his feet were just about the only part of him that felt warm.

The rest of him felt ice cold.

Ailell, the Valley of Torment. What an aptly named _hellscape_. Ashe certainly did not need the lava, the heat, and the stench to experience the torment, however. In fact, it could have been a beautiful lakeside in the fall and he didn't imagine he would feel much different. His torment was all internal.

He clutched his bow in shaking hands, eyes roving over the troops rapidly scrambling into formation below. Their banner wasn't one he was personally familiar with, but he recognised the emblem upon it nonetheless. It sent another stab of ice-cold horror piercing through his gut, clamping down and squeezing like a wet eel. He wanted to be sick.

"Captain?"

Ashe forced himself to tear his eyes away from where his classmates and former friends were scrambling into position. How had it come to this? How? How?

"...are you okay, Captain?"

Ashe swallowed. No, no he certainly was not. He could not say that, however. Instead, he forced the weakest smile of his life and turned away. He could not trust his voice.

...when had it gone so wrong?

* * *

Ashe's heart was in his throat. From his vantage point high above Garreg Mach, he had a clear view of the soldiers streaming through the broken gates. How had Edelgard amassed so many troops so quickly? Hadn't it just been yesterday that they had all been attending school together? That was what it felt like, anyway. But now...

All around him his friends and classmates were fleeing, alongside Church soldiers and knights. The call had come out to abandon the monastery. It was unbelievable. They had always won under Professor Byleth's careful direction. Now, even with all of these extra troops, they were utterly powerless to stop the invasion.

He _jumped_ when a roar pierced the sky, nearly losing his seat atop Minerva's saddle. Casting about frantically, it did not take him long to identify the source. Rising above the walls was an enormous dragon. Its wingspan was astounding—oh, who was he kidding. The entire _beast_ was. Where had it come from? How had they missed—!

Then the dragon went straight for the demonic beasts that Edelgard had brought with her. It was...it was on their side. For all he had struggled with the church this past year, Ashe found another prayer right then and there. Goddess above—

_Thank you_.

The dragon hit the ground, a massive talon rising up and effortlessly swiping aside a monster that would take a dozen troops to fell. With its other foreclaw, it tossed aside a second. Then a third. And then there were four of them swarming the dragon. In a flurry of panic, Ashe urged Minerva down, setting one of his few remaining shafts to his bowstring and drawing it.

Minerva, however, was not having it. With a cry of fear, his normally steadfast wyvern hesitated, massive wings beating a tempo as she held her position in the air. Ashe let out a frustrated cry. He needed to help! He needed—

A flash of red made him drop his bow entirely, his very blood turning to ice despite his pounding heart. No, oh _no_...!

"Professor!"

He grabbed his spare bow, moving to whip Minerva into action. Before he could, however, the sound of a second set of wings drew his fearful gaze. Before he could do something stupid, however, Claude's dishevelled head thrust itself into his line of sight. His house leader had snatched Minerva's reins, preventing her from descending had he even been able to force her.

"Come on, Scruffy. Orders are to leave."

Ashe felt his face twist, brows furrowed in fear. "B-but, Claude. The Professor!" He pleaded, voice cracking faintly. His heart was pounding, hand shaking as he gestured to the fight far below them.

"Teach can handle herself," Claude said, voice mercifully calm. "We need to go."

"But—"

"No buts. Teach'd never let me live it down if I let anything happen to you."

Ashe bit his lip, hard, and looked back down. Byleth was wrecking havoc on the battlefield, Sword of the Creator cutting a wicked scythe through the monsters swarming the dragon. Despite her immense skill, however, it was painfully clear she was being pushed into a retreat. Ashe felt his heart rise into his throat.

"Please, Claude," he begged.

"No, Ashe. Let's go—"

Claude's words were cut off. The far wall of Garreg Mach crumbled like a piece of dry bread, stone, earth, and masonry tumbling into the ravine below. Ashe couldn't hear his own scream over Byleth's as she fell.

He didn't really remember how Claude got him away, in fact he didn't remember much at all, even after reuniting with Hilda and the rest of their class. He did remember Claude's terse and succinct order to disband and head to their respective homes, however. He remembered the deadness in their eyes, the pain and exhaustion, coupled with so much grief. Ashe couldn't see his own eyes, but he saw his own pain reflected in everyone he looked at.

Nobody knew what had become of Dimitri and Dedue, either, despite Claude's best efforts to track him down. Ashe had left their class early in the year, but their absence still gouged a bigger hole in his heart. There was little to be done about it, with all of their lives still in active danger, however.

They parted ways almost immediately. Claude was insistent that they were safer alone, because any semblance of a standing army would be hunted down and slain. It made sense. It made a painful, heart-wrenching kind of sense.

Ashe left alone, not even Minerva joining him for the long walk. Years of thieving kept him safe on the journey, allowing him to stay two full steps ahead of any Empire patrols he stumbled across. The combination of his skills and his desperate need to see his siblings were all that kept him alive on the long journey. His only companion was his painful, bleak thoughts.

Things only got worse when he made it home.

* * *

"Ashe?"

He stared blankly into his cup, eyes unfocussed and bleary. Goddess, he was so tired. Christophe was supposed to succeed Lonato, not him. Lonato was supposed to still be alive. They weren't supposed to be at war. He wasn't cut out for this. Two years of war only made him more certain of that.

...he didn't have much in the way of a choice, however. He had been all but forced into being the new head of House Gaspard. With that came subservience to House Rowe. Together, they had stood for their lost king for only a few weeks. Without kingdom troops, they had quickly been overrun by the Empire's forces. It was join the empire or die, and as...well, as unappealing as the first option was, he had people to protect.

So, he joined the Empire. And he hated himself for it.

A warm hand slipped into his own. Ashe jerked back, eyes wide until he caught the concerned gaze of his sister looking back at him. With her other hand, she took his cup and moved it out of reach.

"I think that's enough of that," Aria said gently, smoothing back his dishevelled hair. "You've been drinking too much."

Ashe sagged, shoulders drooping. He made no attempt to retrieve the cup of ale. "...I-I'm sorry, Ari," he said.

Her gentle fingers swiped the bangs out of his face. "Don't apologise, but...maybe lay off the drink, okay?" she asked softly. So young. She was so young. Why was he burdening her with these extra worries?

He nodded, because what else could he do? He shouldn't be letting her see this weakness in the first place.

She tugged on his hand. "Come with me. Aster and I have a surprise for you."

Ashe allowed himself to be pulled up, and Aria beamed at him. Goddess above, how she could muster such a brilliant smile despite all of the doom and gloom... She was a ray of sunshine in his life. He found himself returning the smile gently.

Her smile brightened, and she tugged him outside, to where their younger brother was waiting, seated on...a blanket, lunch spread out before him. They had even laid out a few violets amongst the dishes. It was even his favourite, pheasant.

His smile came more easily, this time. Squeezing Aria's hand, he went to the blanket and sat down. Goddess help him, at least in this, he was one lucky man.

"Ashe! Do you have time to read the new draft for my novel?"

Ashe smiled at his brother. "Of course, Aster. You know I'm always happy to look at your story."

"You have to be honest, though, okay? No just saying you love it! I can't get better if you're not honest."

"I promise," he said. "But I can't help it if I really do love it."

Aria chuckled. "It's really good, Ashe. I finished it today."

Aster's cheeks reddened, the colour obvious on his pale face. "Y-you really think so?"

"I do," she said firmly. "And I know Ashe is going to love it."

It was hard to believe how far they had come. When Lonato had taken them in, none of them could even read. Now, Aster was writing his own book. Aria was taking after their father and turning into a first class cook. And Ashe...well, he was now the house lord.

He shoved that last thought aside and focussed on the two people he loved most. They made it all worth it. They really did.

* * *

Four years into the war and Ashe was growing into his position...at least, physically. He had hit a massive growth spurt, and he was taking more of an effort to dress the part of a leader. Despite his meagre attempts, however, his heart was still as far from into the war as could be.

He spun the wine it its bottle, staring aimlessly out the window. Dimitri was dead. His friends missing or long out of contact. He felt...alone, isolated. Trapped. The only ray of light left to him were the smiles of his siblings. They tried so hard, and they tried for him.

He loved them so much.

He set the bottle aside, only a few sips taken out of it, and strode to the balcony door. Pushing it open he stepped outside and leaned against the railing. Below him his troops drilled. Troops? Barely. Townsmen and women. Ironic, wasn't it? He'd criticised Lonato for dragging the townspeople into his battle, and here Ashe was, doing the same. Oh, they might not fight often, but he could still see the bitter hypocrisy.

...well, far be it from him to let others fight his battles. He headed back in, then down to the training grounds. Gearing up, he took up his bow—his spare from the battle, purchased for him by Byleth—and headed onto the field.

"Ashe! Decided to join us, huh?"

He offered a small smile and a nod as he selected an unused target. The speaker, Keaton, was an old friend of Lonato's. He had been leading the troops for years, and Ashe trusted him with his life. "It's a nice day. Thought I'd come outside."

"Not a bad idea. Maybe some of the rookies could take a look how a real archer does it."

Ashe felt his cheeks heat faintly. To hide the blush, he made a show of stringing his bow. "...I'd be happy to give pointers if you have anyone interested."

"I'm sure I can scrounge up some kids." Kids. "Then maybe after you can spar with me. You're an unparalleled shot, kid, but your lance work needs, well, work."

Byleth told him to focus on bows and axes. He wasn't a very good rider, and—

He banished the thought with a vengeance. "That sounds good," he said. Selecting five shafts, he pulled them from his quiver and stuck them in the ground, in easy reach of his right hand.

"...alright. Well, hold tight. I'm gonna grab some of the kids." Kids.

Ashe waited, testing his string while he did so. Then he counted his arrows. Then he checked his string again. Then he adjusted his glove.

Goddess, he was so restless. He just wanted to shoot already. He hated battle, but he found some solace in the familiarity of archery without the intent to kill. Despite his mild impatience, he didn't take a single shot until Keaton returned, a half dozen village youths in tow. All were probably capable enough, most kids around here knew how to hunt, but capable wouldn't cut it. Not if they were called to war.

He offered them a warm smile. It didn't reach his eyes, but they didn't notice. Eager eyes watched as he raised his bow.

He took the five shots in brutally quick succession. All five hit close to the centre of the target, one even clipping the end of another. Lowering his bow, he turned to the students. It felt much like when Byleth had coached him, Claude, and Ignatz. Only now he was the teacher.

"Aim is important for an archer, you all know that. Sometimes, speed is just as, or even more, important. A speedy shot that doesn't hit a vital but still slows an attacker can be the difference between life and death," he said, voice carefully controlled. He hated teaching kids. "When you're hunting, your prey flees. A careful shot to a vital or a leg can be the difference between fresh meat with supper or not. When you shoot at a soldier," he swallowed, "you are shooting at something approaching you. Often, more than one somethings. It's terrifying. You don't have the luxury to aim for precision."

"Your aim was pretty dang good!" A voice piped up.

"On a stationary target," he said. "Had that dummy been charging for me, you might have seen different results." That drew a few chuckles. "I'd like you all to practise a quick shot. Take as long as you need to practise. Your goal is five shots in less than a minute, and I want to see all five on the dummy by the end." He'd raise the bar, later.

They nodded and set out to each claim an unused target. Ashe left them to it. With them busy, he selected another arrow, making a show of checking it over. Satisfied with...what, even he did not know, he raised his bow, drew the fletching to his cheek, aimed—and hit one of his own shafts dead on.

He spent the better part of the afternoon shooting. He answered a hundred questions, put on a dozen demonstrations, and handed out pointers like candy. By the end of the day, he collapsed into bed, too tired to even bother with supper. His sleep was thankfully dreamless that night.

* * *

The scheduled day of their class reunion saw Ashe locked up in his room, a large bottle of heavy mead his only companion. While he had become no stranger to drink over the past five years, Ashe rarely got drunk. Not so today. He drank until he could not see straight. He drank for relief. He drank to forget.

He drank to punish himself.

Aria forced her way into his room sometime after lunch. Anger glowed in her pale, blue eyes and she wrestled the bottle away from him. Ashe fought at first, but quickly surrendered to her much steadier hand. She moved the bottle well out of his reach, then knelt at the foot of his chair.

"...Ashe, you're scaring us."

He looked away, vision unfocussed.

"Please look at me."

He shook his head. He couldn't...he didn't want to face her.

Her hand found his, squeezing gently. "...will you at least tell me what's wrong? This isn't like you."

His thoughts felt hazy. He stared at the wall, struggling to order his thoughts. Why...? Oh.

"...promise," he mumbled softly, after a lengthy pause. "Broke my...promise."

Her thumb stroked his knuckles gently. "What promise, Ashe?"

"School. Garreg Mach," he said softly. "My friends."

"Garreg Mach? Is it...the Millennium Festival? That would be today, wouldn't it?"

He nodded, the action jarring his head. "Supposed to meet for the festival..."

"Well, I don't think there's going to be to be too much celebrating today."

He shook his head, harder despite the way it made his thoughts spin. "They went. I-I didn't." His voice cracked at the end, gaze flickering to the confiscated bottle. "I promised...but I didn't go."

"You can't help that," she said, voice calm and comforting. "It's enough that you would go if you could."

He closed his eyes. How he wished that were true. He was nothing but a filthy traitor, caring more for his own neck than his friends' lives. He needed to protect his siblings, though. They did matter the most.

He opened his eyes, catching his sister's gaze. Her face fell from the hopeful smile she'd been wearing, and she leaned forward to wipe the tears from his cheeks.

"Oh Ashe, don't cry." She pulled him close, into a tight hug. "Please don't cry."

He returned the hug tightly, burying his face in her shoulder. Her safety was the most important thing to him. Those of his friends who were still alive were his enemies. Byleth was gone, dead. Dimitri was dead. Dedue was certainly dead. Who knew who else was gone by this point. But she was safe.

He cried until he had no tears remaining, exhaustion settling deep in his bones. Aria pulled away, heedless of the wet spot on her shirt, and stroked the hair back out of his eyes. "Lay down. Take a nap. You need it," she said. "Then I want you to eat supper."

He couldn't help the faint grimace that followed her words. She shook her head. "Let me finish. After you eat, I'll come back. If you want to have a drink then, I'll join you. But I'm not letting you be alone today. And drink some water."

Ashe hung his head. Goddess he was so lucky to have his family. He nodded once, then stood on trembling limbs. It was hard to say where the effects of the alcohol ended, and the pounding of his emotions began.

"Go lay down. I'll get you some water."

He complied, falling face-first into his bed. He lay, unmoving, until he felt the bed shift as his sister settled next to him. He sat up, accepting the full glass of fresh water. He didn't realise the extent of his own thirst until the first sip. He downed the entire glass, then fell back onto the bed, eyes closed.

"Sleep. I'll be back later."

Ashe did, falling into a restless doze. He had not slept well the night before, and indeed for the entire week before. Some rest was much needed, bitter dreams aside. Maybe he could at least see Claude again...someday.

True to her word, Aria returned hours later with a tray of his absolute favourite dishes. There was even cake.

To make it even better, Aster had tagged along, a brilliant smile on his face as he set the draft of his latest story on the table. "For later."

Ashe returned the smile with a weak, but honest, one. "I look forward to it."

"I made supper myself," Aria said as they sat down to eat.

"Did you bake the cake, too?" Aster asked.

"I did. It's the recipe Ashe brought back from the monastery. Your friend gave it to you, Ashe. What was her name?"

He found his gaze drifting to the cake. "...Lysithea. Her name was...Lysithea."

"Is it true, what you said? That she could fell your worst foe with only one attack, all on her own?"

Ashe found himself smiling wryly at the memory. "...the Death Knight? He hounded us often. Then 'Sith figured out his weakness and it was...well, he became a significantly smaller issue." He chuckled weakly. "But she could fell a demonic beast in one blow, if we broke its armour, first, so I suppose we shouldn't have been so surprised."

"What's a...demonic beast?" Aster asked. Goddess, he looked so innocent.

"...terrifying," was all he said.

After a moment of awkward silence, Aria piped up. "Any good stories about your friends?"

Ashe paused with a bite halfway to his mouth. Setting it down, he thought for a moment.

"...we got robbed, once."

"What? Really?" Aster asked.

"It wasn't like a mugging, but someone raided the pantry. My friend Caspar and I teamed up to try to find the thief. We got really heated about it," he admitted, blushing faintly. "It was kind of silly, especially when it turned out to be...a cat."

Aria chuckled. "A cat? The great Garreg Mach got robbed by a cat?"

Ashe found himself smiling faintly. "You should never underestimate a cat."

"What was your first battle like?" Aster interrupted, eyes shining.

"Aster!"

"...it's okay, Ari," Ashe said. Turning to his brother he said seriously, "It was horrible. War is horrible."

Aster gazed up at him keenly, then sighed when he realised his big brother wasn't going to say more. "Yeah, yeah...okay. I get it."

Ashe looked away. "...a lot of people died. They were just bandits, the church said, but...bandits are human, too." His hand shook. How close he had come to a life like that...

Aria's hand closed over his. "You don't have to talk about it."

Ashe nodded and turned his hand to squeeze hers. He really did not want to discuss it further. In fact, he wanted to forget it entirely.

"Can you tell us more?" Aria asked. "About your friends?"

Ashe nodded. Slowly, he went back to eating as he pondered what to tell them. There were so many stories to tell, it was hard to pick just one.

So, he didn't. He talked all through supper and dessert, telling stories about his times at the monastery. His siblings were wonderful listeners, chiming in when appropriate and asking plenty of questions. He truly did love them.

Once the meal was finished, Aria produced a deck of cards and a bottle of heavy rum. Ashe glanced to their sixteen-year-old brother and frowned. "Aria..."

"Your call," she said. Ashe sighed. He'd been duped.

She smiled triumphantly and put the rum away. He let it go, and took the cards. They were...they were better, anyway. He didn't need it to forget. Forget Byleth's scream as she fell, forget the horror in his friends' eyes, forget the way the monastery burned—

He tried to force the bleak thoughts away and, with faintly shaking hands, began to shuffle the deck. The others would have met up by now...but Byleth was gone. She wasn't coming back. Not...not this time.

"Ashe?"

He smiled at Aria, then his face fell. "I'm...I'm sorry," he said softly. "I'm so sorry..."

"...you have nothing to apologise for. We're happy to—"

He cut her off with a single, sharp shake of the head. "I...I saw her fall. I couldn't do anything. She's dead."

"...who's dead, Ashe?"

He set the cards down and stood. "I...I'm going to go for a walk."

"Let me—"

"No." He bit his lip. "I just...need to be alone. Please."

She was clearly reluctant, but slowly nodded. "Okay...but if you need anything, come back. We're here for you."

He nodded and turned away. Quick steps carried him from the room, through the manor, and out the front door. He felt marginally better once the cool night air washed over him. Pausing, he took a deep breath, enjoying the fresh air. Then he started walking.

His feet carried him to the training grounds. They were empty at this hour of the night, but that just made it easier to snag a lance and set to work, practising. He had been training hard the past two years, learning the lance and riding. His uncertainty around horses had faded away in favour of pragmatism; he needed to be ready to fight to defend his troops.

...even if the enemy wasn't really his enemy at all.

The training dummy was certainly no substitute for a real person, but this wasn't really about training, anyway. It was about burning off the pain.

...Felix would make a wonderful partner, even if he could beat the stuffing out of Ashe with his left hand. Leonie and Dimitri were unmatched with a lance as well. Shooting with Ignatz and Claude, and sometimes even Bernadetta.

Byleth overseeing them all, her cool gaze not missing anything.

He hoped against hope that everyone else had made it back, even in spite of Byleth's absence. They were his friends. His classmates. So long as they were happy, healthy...

Alive.

He didn't notice when the tears began to flow. His vision blurred and his arms shook from emotion and strain. In spite of that, he didn't stop until he could barely lift the lance and sweat stuck his hair to his scalp. Letting it drop to the ground, he left it there and slunk back to the house.

It was dead silent in the late hour, dark and lonely. Navigating the familiar halls in the dark was no issue, however, and he easily found his way back to his room. Pushing the door open, he found a fire blazing in the hearth and Aria sound asleep sprawled across his bed.

He sighed and tugged the blanket from the foot of his bed up over her. He left her there and went to the fireplace, retrieving the bottle of rum on the way. Pulling up a chair by the fire, he stoked it and sat down.

He spent the rest of the night with nothing but the rum and fire for company.

* * *

It was three weeks later when Gwendal Rowe himself sent for him. Concerned, wary, and confused, Ashe saddled his horse and rode out. Rowe sent him the occasional letter, and had stopped in a few times to check on Ashe's troops, but this was the first time he had sent for Ashe.

The two-day trip was a beautiful one, but Ashe was far too stressed to enjoy it. He knew his friends had met at Garreg Mach, and he knew they were joining up with the scattered Church forces. He also knew Edelgard was wasting no time countering their fledgling forces. If Rowe was calling for him, it was entirely possible their forces were going to be called in. That possibility was terrifying.

By the end of the journey, Ashe was a mess. He had to hide it, however, bottling it all up and riding up to Rowe's walled manor with a straight back and raised chin. Right now, his own emotions could not matter.

He was escorted to the man's office. Rowe wasn't in, so he settled in a chair to wait. He had had days to imagine every worst possible scenario that could come to pass, and his mind did not want to quiet while he waited. He schooled his expression to careful neutrality, however. He had cried enough while alone, now it was time to act like...like the house lord he was supposed to be.

Rowe entered some time later. Ashe jumped up, stammering out a greeting before managing to get his nerves back under control. Barely.

"You're here. Good." The Grey Lion was not one to mince words, and Ashe was relieved. He could not handle small talk right now. "How much do you know about these new forces?"

Ashe swallowed. Certainly he didn't realise how close Ashe had been to Claude. He was supposed to be in Prince Dimitri's class, not Claude's. He couldn't—

"I...I've met Duke Riegan," he said carefully, "but I haven't spoken to him in five years. Not since—"

Rowe was already shaking his head, cutting Ashe off. "I know all of that. I want to know what information your spies have brought in."

Oh. "N-nothing your last message didn't cover."

Rowe frowned. "I was hoping you'd know more about the rumour that Rhea's prodigy is running around again."

Rhea's prodigy? Ashe's heart sank at the same time that it rose. It couldn't be...

"I'm...afraid I haven't heard anything," he said slowly. "Can you fill me in?"

"She would have been at the academy while you were there. She was one of the instructors. Close to Riegan."

He swallowed. "...Byleth? Byleth Eisner?"

He nodded. "What do you know of her?"

Ashe hesitated, then made a quick decision. "...Byleth died at the invasion. I'm certain of it. I...I saw her fall to her death myself."

Rowe frowned. "...so if she's dead, how is she rallying his troops?"

_Their professor, sent away, then a mythical sword, cutting open the sky—_

"...an imposter?" Ashe supplied awkwardly.

"Perhaps," Rowe agreed. "Or perhaps your eyes didn't see what you think they saw."

_A scream, tearing open the heavens as she fell, ripping a hole in his heart.  
_  
He merely nodded.

"Well, whatever the case, we're under orders to start readying our troops. We have no deployment orders yet, but it won't be long. See to it you're ready, Ubert."

Ashe's heart sank to his feet. "...yes, my lord."

"Good." Not good. Ashe knew Rowe felt the same, despite his words. "You are dismissed. I will see you for dinner."

Standing, Ashe offered a short bow and left the room. He had a lot to think about.

* * *

By the time the orders came to deploy to Ailell, Ashe was certain the one leading Claude's forces was none other than Byleth. Their forces had utterly crushed Edelgard's frantic attempt to retake the monastery, and they were apparently making a move to meet up with reinforcements from the Alliance.

They were to crush the attempt.

Ashe said a painful goodbye to his siblings. He couldn't bring himself to tell them the truth, so he settled for a painfully tight hug and tearful farewell. He loved them too much to tell them...that he wasn't coming back.

* * *

Ashe knew he needed to protect his troops. He had taken the few dozen archers, and at Rowe's orders, they took position near where Byleth—for it was certainly her—was laying out her troops.

He prayed and he prayed, and he could not come up with a way to save both his troops...and hers. He could only hope she made their deaths swift.

"Captain?"

Goddess, her voice was so scared. Most of them were children. He had trained them. He knew how woefully unprepared for murder they were. Byleth had led him through his first battle, and he had barely managed it. And he was no Byleth to guide them.

Steeling himself, he turned to them and offered his most charming smile. "We'll be okay. Just stay close to me."

She nodded, and several other others inched closer to him. Goddess, how had he wound up with their lives in his hands, in a battle he knew they could never win?

He turned away to hide his grimace, tasting bile in his mouth. He felt sick.

Unfortunately, turning away meant he had to look at them, at his friends, again. His friends, who were gearing up to fight him.

It was then that Claude glanced across. He looked different, dressed in finery he had not worn at the academy. He looked good. The distance was far too great to make out an expression on his face, but he did not miss how his friend's gaze lingered far too long on Ashe's position.

...Claude was a flyer. He was probably debating the best way to handle the threat his archers posed. In fact, that was precisely why they were positioned so close to the front lines, to take out Claude's wyvern corps.

Then Claude turned away, motioning Byleth over and pointing. It was—Goddess—it was definitely her. That brilliant green hair, her rigid stance, he could imagine her piercing gaze—

They were going to come kill him.

The battle began in a flurry of activity that made his head spin. Gwendal Rowe was an honourable man and had allowed the Alliance forces time to regroup, rather than simply charging disorganised forces. It was the actions of an honest man...and quite likely one who knew this battle was a lost cause.

So it was that the Alliance launched the first strike. It came in a way Ashe could not hope to prepare for.

Claude mounted his wyvern and took to the skies. The heat forced him to keep low, within range of Ashe's archers, and with ice in his veins, he moved to give orders, only to freeze up at the sight of Byleth charging in his direction.

No, not his. Lysithea's.

She reached Lysithea, and then disappeared in a flash of white magic. She reappeared—directly in front of Ashe. He recoiled, fumbling for his bow. He didn't stand a chance. The Sword of the Creator lashed out in a flash of red, severing clean through the bow Byleth had given him years before. Ashe let it fall from trembling fingers.

She moved like a cat, retracting the sword and lunging. Ashe held up his hands, the tip of the fiery blade pressed against the soft skin of his throat. Behind him, he could hear screams of fear, and rage, from his regiment. He clenched his right hand in a fist, praying they would obey and hold their fire. He could die.

She couldn't.

Shouts and pounding hooves in the distance signalled the approach of Byleth's battalion, but they weren't the immediate threat. No, that was Claude. He landed smoothly alongside their professor, his own bow drawn and raised. Around them, he could hear the beating of wyverns' wings. He didn't need to look to know the scene. Byleth had come for them with a vengeance.

"...kill me," he said softly, "b-but spare them. Please, Claude," he begged. "They're just kids. It's not...not their fault."

Claude lowered his bow, twirling the arrow lightly as he appraised Ashe. "You've grown up, Scruffy—guess I can't call you that anymore though, huh? The new look is good."

Ashe couldn't respond, his throat closed over. Possibly by his heart. He swallowed thickly.

Claude sighed and exchanged a look with Byleth. "...you scared the hell outta us, Ashe." He didn't say more, but the glance he sent to their professor spoke volumes. She still hadn't said a word.

"I-I-"

"Arrest them."

Byleth's voice was as cool and collected as he remembered, her tone cold. Despite that, his heart soared.

They were taken and bound, their weapons tossed aside. Byleth's unit had caught up to them by now, and they were escorted back towards the main camp for the Alliance forces by several horsemen.

"Captain? Captain, what's going to happen to us?"

Ashe walked at the front, a small smile on his lips. He turned back to his troops, his body steady for what felt like the first time in weeks. "We're going to be fine," he said encouragingly. For once, he meant it.

"...how do you know? We're prisoners of war!"

He shook his head. "It's for show."

"What does that mean?" she asked frantically.

"If we're taken prisoner, our homes will be safe," he said gently. "It's the best way to get us off the battlefield. Letting us go—" he shook his head. "It's this or kill us."

She winced. "...I...I don't want to die, but—"

"Claude and the Professor are helping us," he promised. "You'll see."

"Why? Why would they help us! They don't know us!"

He glanced back to the battle. "...because they're my friends." And they forgave him. "I went to the officer's academy at Garreg Mach," he admitted at length. "I was in their class."

"In the Alliance class?"

He nodded. "They invited me to join. I accepted." So had most of the academy, in fact.

"...you're sure they won't kill us?"

He nodded, flashing her a reassuring smile. "I am."

Mercedes greeted them almost the moment they arrived at camp. She had likely stayed back to act as triage, and they were being escorted to the medical tents to see to minor injuries. She appeared from the first tent, a towel slung over her shoulder, and stopped dead.

Ashe smiled shyly at her. "Hi, Mercedes."

He was in her arms in an instant. He couldn't hug her back, not with his arms bound, but he leaned into her.

"Ashe! I cannot believe it's really you! Where have you been? The professor has been so worried..."

"...I'm here, now."

"Ashe! Finally decided to join us, did you?"

"Linhardt, it's good to see you," he said earnestly as his old friend strode over.

"What's all this, now?" Linhardt gestured to their bindings. "If I didn't know better, I would almost say you're a prisoner."

"Here, allow me to—"

Ashe shook his head, stepping back from Mercedes' well-meaning hands. "Leave it for now. We're okay."

Mercedes paused, then lowered her hands. "...okay, Ashe. If you're certain."

He smiled warmly at her. "I am."

"At least allow me to heal your neck," Mercedes said.

Once again, Ashe shook his head. "Leave it. I'm not in any danger, and there are others who will need you more."

"Of course, Ashe," Mercedes agreed. "So long as you are okay." She sounded reluctant, but he knew it was the right decision.

"I am," he promised. "I can barely even feel it."

"Well, well, if it isn't little Ashe."

"Professor Manuela?" he asked, genuinely surprised.

"The one and only," she said. And she looked good, an easy smile on her lips as she lounged with arms folded. "You're certainly a sight for sore eyes."

"...is...is everyone really here?" he asked softly, glancing between his two friends and former teacher.

Mercedes laid a hand over his bound ones. "You were the only one missing."

He caught her hand and held it between his. "I...I'm so sorry," he stammered, feeling tears prickling at his eyes.

"You are here now," she said soothingly. Her free hand wiped a tear from his cheek. "And we are so happy to have you."

He fell into her embrace for a second time. All alive. His friends were all alive. Goddess above, how was he so lucky?

* * *

Annette was the first of the deployed troops to pay him a visit. She hadn't even changed from her mage robes when she fell upon him, wrapping her arms around him in an almost suffocatingly tight hug. He wished he could hug her back. They were still bound, however, and isolated from the main army. Ashe remained confident that it was for show, though.

"Oh Ashe, I missed you so much!" she cried, burying her tear-stained face in his shoulder. "We were all so worried! The professor was so afraid something had happened to you!"

"I know," he said, voice choked. "I'm so sorry for worrying you."

She pulled back, caught his face in her hands, and leaned in to kiss his forehead. "It's okay. Just don't scare us like that again. When Claude spotted you with their forces..." She released him as she trailed off with a shrug.

"...what happened?" he asked softly.

"I thought the professor was going to single-handedly cut down the entire army..." Annette winced. "She actually argued with Claude about it. He had to pull rank to keep her from going off by herself to get you back."

Ashe felt his heart clench. He'd hurt them so much. He hadn't wanted to, but...

"Oh, Goddess, I've said too much, haven't I?" Annette babbled, brow furrowed. "I'm so sorry, Ashe."

He shook his head and swallowed thickly. "...I'm glad you told me. I-I'll apologise to them."

She hugged him again. "Nobody's mad at you," she assured.

He doubted that was true, but it was still nice to hear.

When they finally pulled apart, she offered him a genuine smile. "I'm really glad you're back."

Ashe swallowed thickly and returned her smile. "...me too."

"Annette." At the sound of Claude's voice, Ashe straightened unconsciously, heart leaping into his throat. "Come on. We need to pack up and get moving. This is nobody's choice to for camp tonight."

"Right, Claude," she said. "Ashe, I'll see you soon." With one more quick hug, she bounded off.

Claude stayed.

"...listen, sorry about the whole prisoner thing. Gonna have to play along a little longer."

"I understand," Ashe said immediately, eyes on the ground. "Don't worry about me."

"Good, then I won't."

Ashe looked up in surprise, only to find Claude smiling encouragingly at him. He returned the smile weakly as Claude's hand landed heavily on his shoulder. "You should get ready to leave, too."

"We will be," he promised.

"Good. We'll talk more once we're away from this hellhole."

"Wait, Claude—"

Claude turned back to him.

"...what happened? With the battle?"

Claude's gaze flickered away, gazing into the distance. "...we put down an old lion," he said cryptically. The meaning was clear, however. "Dirty work."

"I...see."

Claude turned to meet his eyes. "...don't dwell on it, Scruffy. You couldn't have done anything."

With that Claude turned and jogged off. Ashe returned to sit with his...former troops.

"Captain?"

"...Gwendal Rowe is dead. I can't believe it," he said at length. It was bound to happen, going up against the professor, but it was still difficult to hear. How many innocents had died for no reason, today? It turned his stomach.

One of the older men, who had served under both Rowe and Lonato, spoke up, "Don't dwell on it, kid. Nothing was going to save him. He'd just be glad you're safe."

That did draw Ashe's attention. He sat up, catching his eyes. "...he would?"

"None of us wanted to get dragged into this, especially not under that damn woman. Best thing we can do now is try to end this hellish war."

Well, Ashe could agree with that. How many innocents were constantly being dragged into the fighting? For the first time in years, he felt like he truly had a reason to go to war. He hated fighting, but he wanted to fight for Claude. For true justice.

"I agree," he said at last. "I'm going to join the Alliance army. I know Claude won't force anyone to join him, and neither will I, so if any of you want to go home, you can." He doubted Claude would be able to help them leave, but he knew they would not be hindered, at least.

"...what if we don't want to go home?"

Ashe smiled. "Then I know you'll be welcomed."

Ashe might have slightly preferred to send most of them back to the safety of their families, but it was hard to deny them the right to stand against the forces that had terrorised them for so long. To a man and woman, they voted to join the Alliance.

All that was left was to speak to Claude.

* * *

They set out late that afternoon, and marched well passed dark.

Ingrid was the next to pay him a visit. He was overjoyed to see her. She looked...older, and not just in the physical sense. That was no surprise, given the burdens every one of them now carried. He'd dared to harbour a guess that hers were a little heavier than most.

Despite that, she had a warm smile and a warmer hug for him, as well as reassurances that he truly was still one of them.

Following her departure came Sylvain, with a reluctant Felix in tow. A hefty slap on the shoulder, one that nearly sent Ashe face-first into the dirt, and a welcoming smile were his welcome from Sylvain. As for Felix...

Well, he came to say hi. That counted, right? Privately, though, Ashe didn't think Felix looked very good. Oh, physically he was fine, but there was a pain and an anger in his eyes that still smouldered. He was glad Felix still had Sylvain to look out for him.

To his joy, Ignatz and Raphael came next. Much to Ashe's joy, Ignatz promised new paintings to show him back at Garreg Mach. As for Raphael...well, he thought Ashe was far too thin and needed some meat on his bones. He promised to personally oversee Ashe's meals for the foreseeable future.

...war aside, Ashe was certain that that would be what killed him.

Hilda brought him a new necklace that she had, apparently, made for him years before. It was no big deal, of course, she had made one for everyone, but she hadn't seen him to give it to him. Whatever her words, it didn't escape his notice that she just so happened to have it on her on the battlefield. He refrained from commenting.

Petra dragged Bernadetta back, and they all promised to resume their weekly training sessions together. He couldn't wait. There was no better wyvern rider than Petra, and Bernie was an ace shot.

Caspar came bounding back with a story about their...their cat nemesis? He wasn't sure when it had become their cat nemesis, but he was too happy to see Caspar alive and well to ask.

Marianne rode over, on the back of her ever-faithful Dorte. He was glad to see them both well. They had been on stable duty often enough that Ashe was well acquainted with the gelding, and gave him a pat with his bound hands.

What was more surprising was Lysithea clinging to a horse alongside Marianne. She didn't look terribly pleased to be up there, but, well, Ashe could only imagine that Byleth was running out of things to teach the powerful magic user. Why not try riding? He didn't dare say that, though...

Leonie gave him a painful clap on that back that actually did send him stumbling a few steps forward. She was glad to see him well, but if he dared scare them like that again—well, he could imagine the rest. Goddess he was glad to be on her good side.

Flayn came to see him, under the watchful eye of Seteth. It was a little...weird that she hadn't aged, wasn't it? But, again, he was too happy—and too afraid of Seteth—to breathe a word of it. Their health and safety were what mattered most.

Ferdinand visited very briefly, and had little to say. Though they had not known one another well—Ferdinand had been the last to join their class—Ferdinand had wanted to apologise. Ashe assured him it was not his fault, and it certainly wasn't, but the sentiment was appreciated. He was glad that Byleth had managed to bring the noble man around to their side. He would hate to have to fight him.

Dorothea came by immediately on Ferdinand's heels. Her only comment was that she was glad _she_ didn't have to fight _him_. Well, the feeling was mutual. It was good to have some pacifists around. If everyone was like Felix—

He cut that train of thought. No thank you.

Not everyone came to see him, but that was okay. He saw Hanneman walking with Manuela, and Shamir and Cyril dart off and return some time later with a deer strung between them. Lorenz gave him a cool look, and Ashe looked away. Well, not everyone was obligated to forgive him. Really, he was truly lucky as it was.

And he saw Catherine. While she didn't stop by, she did offer him a small smile which he returned.

The very last person to stop by, just before they stopped for the night, was Byleth. She did not speak a word to him, merely grabbed his hands, tugged out her belt knife, and cut his bindings. Ashe was flexing his hands and rubbing his wrists when she thrust the knife into his hands.

...then she walked away.

"Thank you, professor," he said softly to her turned back. She did not so much as glance back. With a deep breath, he took the hint and went to cut his troops' bindings.

* * *

They slept briefly that night, and were back on the march just after first light. Ashe made himself useful, helping with cooking and cleaning, then volunteering to help with the pack animals. His attempts were refused by none other than Claude, who dragged him up to march with the rest of the Golden Deer.

His troops had quickly been assimilated into Ignatz' battalion of archers, much to Ashe's relief, with an unspoken promise to move them to Ashe's once Byleth selected one for him. He could hardly complain, even had he wanted to. With that in mind, he allowed Claude to drag him off.

He found it easy to fall back into the routine. The vast majority of his classmates were all too happy to act like nothing had happened, and while Ashe wasn't certain how he felt about that, exactly, he opted to go along with it, anyway. It was certainly the easiest choice.

He soon found himself sandwiched between his two dearest friends, Ignatz and Annette, as he walked. Annette seemed determined to chat his ear off—not that he was complaining!—while Ignatz was content to listen, only chiming in on occasion. It was through them that he was finally, finally caught up on the state of both the Alliance and what was left of the kingdom. The war seemed grim, but with the professor back, they both felt like they truly had a chance.

Ashe was all too happy to throw in his faith with theirs.

It was just before noon when Claude drifted back. Excusing himself as he somewhat rudely squeezed in between Ignatz and Ashe, he slung and arm around the latter's neck.

"How you coping all the way back here?"

"Uh, um..." Ashe stammered, faintly overwhelmed by the sudden closeness. "I-I'm...good?"

"Great! Then you can go see Teach!" Ashe found himself shoved forward by a grinning Claude. "Tell her I said hi!"

Ashe blinked, surprised, but didn't waste much time heading forward. Claude and Byleth were practically glued at the hip all day. If Claude had come for him, she had undoubtedly sent him to.

He swallowed nervously as he fell into step beside her. He had missed her more than any other, but Goddess she seemed so angry with him... He couldn't bring himself to speak.

"Are you okay?"

Ashe looked up, startled. He voice lacked the harsh coldness it had carried yesterday, and she was looking at him with genuine concern. He swallowed thickly.

"I-I'm fine."

"I don't mean physically."

Something about the way she said it, the way she looked at him, cut deep. He couldn't find his voice.

"...I won't pretend to know what you've gone through these past five years, but I know it couldn't have been easy. Ingrid filled me in on the state of your father's lands." His heart clenched and he looked down at his feet. "I'm truly sorry we couldn't help you sooner."

Ashe shook his head slowly, still reluctant to trust his voice. There was so much he wanted to tell her. To reassure her that he was fine. To promise that it wasn't her fault. To offer her his eternal loyalty. To deny that he ever wanted to fight them.

...but he couldn't. And honestly? He thought she probably already knew.

Her arm landed across his shoulders, giving him a friendly squeeze. "We're here for you, now, Ashe. I'm here for you."

He looked up, fresh tears glistening at the corners of his eyes.

"Thank you, Professor."

* * *

They stopped early that night. At Claude's orders, the few precious kegs they had with them were broken out, and those not on active duty were permitted a single glass.

Ashe sat around the fire with his friends, telling stories about their academy days. Despite the pain, the wounds, the aches in his soul...he felt at peace. He was jammed tightly between Byleth and Claude, neither of whom had let him out of their sight since lunch, and the warmth from their bodies and the fire slowly drew him into a light doze.

He was jostled awake as they slowly broke to turn in. As he was standing, Byleth snatched his glass of ale before he accidentally kicked it over. She glanced at it with a frown."...you didn't touch your drink, Ashe."

He offered her a small, but earnest, smile. "I don't need it anymore, Professor. You saved me."

* * *

_I made Ashe an alcoholic and I'm only a little sorry. Also when the heck did this thing hit 9K words. _

_I ship Ashe and Byleth, but if you wanna ship him with Claude in this fic, be my guest. Or nobody. Or everybody. I just hope you enjoyed. :) Reviews are always welcomed and encouraged!_


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